There are few things as surreal as recapping an episode of ER after having spent a few hours in one. Typing things like "tension pneumo" and "surgical consult" take on a whole new meaning when you're watching your roommate dealing with both. Think happy, lung-inflating thoughts in her direction, please!
Previously on ER: Kem is planning to return to the Congo before birthing the Cartus in the States; Abby told Sam that Luka was a good guy, and Sam insisted she didn't need or want a boyfriend. And then, to underline the bolded, italicized, highlighted point, we see the shot of her kissing Luka on the El while we hear the voice over of Sam saying, "I wouldn't mind some regular sex." Check. We've got it. Like a virus.
Alex and Sam leave her apartment -- him for school and a sleepover, and her for work. Alex whines that Sleepover Family is always doing zany things like praying before meals. "Be respectful," Sam says. "Start thinking about something else." Yes, that's very respectful. Just because that's how you deal with bad sex doesn't mean that the sweet little baby Jesus will be okay with Alex folding his hands and murmuring "Amen," while thinking about the Bulls, or the Blackhawks, or how to perform a tracheotomy on little Jenny Smith with a butter knife and some uncooked penne if she starts choking in the cafeteria. Alex frowns; he doesn't want to go. Sam tries to tempt him by reminding him that Austin's mother is planning to set something on fire at dinner. It's so nice to see her encouraging the budding pyromaniac in Alex. Goals and direction must seem so refreshing in a kid that young. Alex tells Sam that Austin's mom is going to set bananas on fire. I hope that's going to develop into a touring act. Sam doesn't care, and packs him into the waiting minivan while apologizing to Carpool Mom for her tardiness. "I couldn't get Max going, either," Carpool says tiredly. "I'm never gonna make yoga now." As she hands Alex his stuff, Sam shoots Carpool a cocked eyebrow, as if to suggest that she might be less than sympathetic with being late for meditation and stretching when Sam's off to a world of stress and bodily fluids.
Sam reminds Alex of how to reach her, and warns him to check his blood sugar before dinner. He asks what she's going to do that night: "Are you going to see Luka?" At first, I thought this flowed from his first thought, but I think he actually was leaping to whether she'd be seeing him at work, because Sam says, "I guess so," but acts flustered and a little blushingly secretive, as if Alex doesn't know that what he's asking holds an extra meaning for her: tongue. "Enjoy your night of freedom," Carpool says to Sam. She slams the car door and they leave. "Man, your sister's hot," Carpool's kid mutters to Alex. Ha ha, except judging by how familiar she was with the mother, isn't this Sam and Alex's regular carpool? It makes no sense, then, that Stupid Child would either think that, or even crack that joke. I don't know why I can't let these things go.
As Abby tries to present patients to Weaver, a man throws himself against the glass of the drug lock-up and screams that he is dying. An extra sitting in the lock-up, face looming in the left foreground, shakes her head disapprovingly. This scene serves no purpose, aside from giving Chris Chulack's sister/wife/daughter a blurry and unflattering moment in the sun. Thanks, bonenut. Abby's got a fourteen-year-old girl with a sprained ankle, and calls her medical history "unremarkable," which wins her a lecture from Weaver on how it's important to be thorough. Kerry's thesis is that a girl of that age might not come to any doctors with any regularity, so this is their chance to make sure she's not pregnant, knows how to use birth control, and isn't hiding the presence of unsightly genital sores. Abby's all, "I should bring the cervix into an ankle exam?" Weaver stiffly insists that Abby get a full medical and sexual history.
A square-looking older man trots briskly up to Weaver and introduces himself as Arnie, a human resources consultant. Arnie is the kind of guy who wears suspenders and a belt, irons his socks, eats the same meals each night of the week, and wears garters that keep his socks pulled up and his shirt tucked in firmly. Arnie, in short, is what I imagine Milhouse might grow up to become. ["Old Larry has come a long way from his days at the Regal Beagle, to be sure." -- Wing Chun] Weaver exposits for Abby that Arnie's advising them on ways to ensure a happy and cooperative workplace. "Shorter hours and higher pay," Abby cracks. Arnie, however, doesn't understand jokes. His underwear is set on perma-wad. Abby waves off that she was just making a suggestion, and Arnie brightly assures her that he is very open to suggestions, and will be interviewing them all. Just then, his cell phone rings, and the tune is the Can-Can, because he read once in a motivational book that if you are hopelessly boring, your appliances should always strive to be more interesting than you are. Susan passes and rolls her eyes, because that's what her direction always seems to be when she enters an episode for the first time. Weaver tells her that Arnie's there because Risk Management sent him as part of "the Romano lawsuit." Susan asks, "Which one?" Interesting that this is the first anyone's heard of these. Weaver tells her it's a hostile work environment suit. Arnie happily shares that his job is to identify high-risk behaviors and implement early solutions, or somesuch business/consultancy babble that translates to "I get paid huge sums of money to recommend things that probably won't work to fix problems that have already happened." Arnie doesn't want things to get violent. "Have you ever been in an ER before?" Frank asks, voice dripping with disdain. Undeterred, and in love with corporate language since that self-help guru lit the Bunsen Burner within, Arnie delivers an impassioned speech about "navigating the twin dangers of anger and conflict," clenching his fists and bumping them together for effect. He twiddles his eyebrows. "You've got 'em now, Arnie," he thinks. "Thank God for the Learning Annex."
Malarkey dumps a dish of French fries onto Sam's desk at triage, and carelessly squirts ketchup all over them and on her paperwork. "I'm going to kill you," she says, irritated, but also in a matter-of-fact tone that I find extremely pleasant given the subject matter. "Sorry," he shrugs, offering her some fries. She ignores him, and of course, Malarkey promptly begins choking. He bangs on the table and then knocks stuff off it to get her attention. She turns to him, sees that he's choking, and gets up to help, banging him on the back with relish. Then she turns him toward the glass so that he's facing the camera, and thoughtfully pushes the "Heimlich: Puree" button on the vomit comet remote control that NBC installed in her scrubs. The French fry shoots straight out of his mouth -- wee starch bullets aimed at us point-blank -- and splats all over the glass. Lest anyone wonder what TPTB thinks of its audience, here is the answer: Malarkey has thrown up all over us. "Idiot," Sam spits, sitting back down. Malarkey thanks her and shovels another fry into his mouth as Arnie watches, alarmed; we smash into the credits as the partially chewed bits of potato ooze down the uncleaned window to form the words, "Orman Rocks."
A roaring fire burns in Carter's bedroom, and no, I'm not referring to his loins. As a general rule, forthwith, I will never be referring to his loins. In front of the fireplace, Kem tugs on a gigantic pair of wool socks to go with her man's shirt, and wraps herself in a blanket as she hops and shivers her way out of the room. If she's so chilly, why doesn't she put on some pants? If I put on a wool sweater, long johns, and jeans, and then walked outside on a summer day and said, "Ooooh, it's HOT out here," I would smack my roommate if she showed me any pity. Plus, pants are a pleasure.
Kem tiptoes around the house calling for Carter. In the process, she finds a photo of him without the beard, and she caresses his chin adoringly. Carter's in the kitchen making waffles; Kem enters and teasingly asks if he locked Emily the Stuffy Servant in the shed. "I gave her the day off," Carter says. "She's convinced we're going to burn the house down." Considering Kem just left a roaring fire unattended and without a screen, that Emily just might be on to something. Although I guess that's one way to get rid of The Beard: singe it off. Very subversive, Kem. She kisses Carter warmly and gets a mouthful of facial hair down her foolish gullet; she then asks if the hospital minded his taking a day off. "No, I think Luka's forced everybody to lower their expectations," Carter says. "If we show up without resigning, Weaver thinks it's a good day." Carter's got a list of things he plans to do with Kem on their day alone, mostly things he hasn't shown her in Chicago and which the chauffer didn't think to share. Carter wonders where to start. Kem touches The Beard and mischievously says, "I have an idea." Oh, sweet, sweet salvation, don't tease me like the lapdancing brute you can be -- please, can this be The Beard's Last Stand? Please.
Abby complains to Susan about Weaver's reprimand, calling it "condescending" and wondering if Susan would bother with a sexual history on a fourteen-year-old with an ankle sprain. Susan tactfully says it depends on the girl. Suddenly, Malarkey drifts past and gushes about how big Susan's getting, putting his hand on her belly as he asks if she minds the touching. "Yeah," she snaps, slapping him away. I'm guessing part of her problem is that if she's still having morning sickness, she's probably not showing enough for Malarkey's little gooey comment to be anything beyond insulting. Arnie's Inappropriate Touching radar goes off, and once he gets over the wistful pangs, he makes a note in his Injustice Files. Frank sasses, "Are you getting married? Or is that kid growing up a bastard?" Abby orders him to shut up. They should go the extra mile and hire a Greek chorus to stand there and shout, "Shut up, Frank," every fifteen minutes.
Once free of the Bloated Blowhard, Abby whispers to Susan about what might be going on with Chuck. "He's pushing to get married," Susan says, but she's not sure that's what she wants. I mean, it's been a whopping half-year since the last time they were hitched, and she's really changed since then, you know? Her hair's longer. I wish they'd address whether the pregnancy was accidental, and why she decided to keep it. Is that too much to ask? Wait, what am I saying? Of course it is.
Arnie interrupts to ask Susan if she's constantly subject to unwanted physical contact at work. He stops short of fumbling, "Would you LIKE to be?" Abby's called away by Sam to check out a man's knee injury, so Susan just stands there stunned as Arnie asks if all the touching is encouraged. His suspenders twitch as if her answer might seriously make him consider a career change.
A crabby guy with a knee that's swollen and bruised black -- Miguel -- watches as Sam and Abby approach. "How many blonde bimbos you got in this hospital?" he asks. "Just the right number," Sam replies. Miguel's thinking, "THIRTY? Really?" Apparently, Miguel fell off a ladder. Abby prods at his knee, and he slaps her hand away. "Give me some Vicodin and I can get off your plate," he growls. Abby ignores him and tries to continue working him up and getting a full history. Pratt ducks over and sighs that she's wasting time on a cut-and-dried case: drain it, give him pills, and turf him. "That's what I said," Miguel whines. Frustrated, Abby points out that she hasn't gotten a full history, but Pratt doesn't care. He walks away griping that med students are always spending too much time on one patient, when they could do as Pratt does and apply the principles of his lovelife to his work: spread the wealth, and do as many people at a time as he can. Sam defends that Abby had just started, and was doing a great job. Arnie pops up to ask Sam if he can talk to her about the incident earlier with Malarkey. "It wasn't an incident," she says, disbelievingly. "It was a French fry." Arnie brightens and jots down her words in the "Analogies That Will Make People Like Me" column on his clipboard.
As he ties up Kem's ice skate, we pan up to Carter's face. A blinding light assaults the screen. Razors across the country spontaneously dull themselves in sympathy with the one brave blade that felled that most thorny and stubborn of tangles: The Beard. Ding, dong, the nappy growth's gone. The villainous hairs have been plucked from the demon follicles, and a cleaner day with fewer stuck food particles has begun. I anoint thee, O Kem, a modern hero. "Are you colder now?" she teases. "Yeah," he laughs. They stand, and she teeters on her skates, but once he gets going, he drags her along and she magically masters the art of balancing on blades. I can't wait until she falls and coasts on her pregnancy belly like it's a sled.... Oh, wait, they're not making her wear one. I can't tell if she's knocked up or if she just forgot to do her morning Pilates. Carter tells a charming story about how his happy memory of this rink is that his grandfather used to rent it out for him, his brother, and all his friends. And in the summer, when it wasn't frozen, Carter's mom would just come blow on the water and the whole thing would turn to ice. But then Carter pretends he wasn't as pampered as he makes it sound. Whatever. He and Kem giggle and twirl and smooch; the toothache prompts one of my molars to quit in anger and move to my mother's house. Joke's on it when it finds out she watches Judging Amy.
Neela is learning to do a pap test while Luka observes and instructs. "Once you have the blades in, pull the press straight down, and the cervix should come into view," says the man who probably knows best. The little blonde, Layla, looks a bit nervous as she exposits that the bleeding began the night before. Sam pops in, peering up at Luka almost as if she expects their first interaction to be related to their kiss, so when he asks her to do something nursing-related, she snaps her mouth shut almost gratefully and quickly turns away to do it. At least, I think that's what was going on -- it's super-brief and barely there, but it felt like an ice-breaker for her. Neela quietly informs Luka that Layla has bruises, a hematoma, and vaginal tearing as deep as three centimeters, and oh, OW, that hurts me as much as any mention of childbirth. Luka repeats this, because it sounds less scary when he coats it in the thick honey of his accent. "Is that from too much sex?" Layla asks, sheepishly. Luka hedges that it's from the type of sex. Layla swears that no one's raped her, expositing with a glow that she's got a fiancé named Dean who's in college. This is ER speak for "She's too meek to stand up to him, and he's a complete bastard." Luka gently asks if he's rough with her, and she bites her lip and giggles that they do get carried away sometimes.
Outside, Sam can't believe that a sixteen-year-old girl is engaged already. Luka changes the subject and invites her out that night -- a patient has a Korean restaurant, and Luka figured they could take Alex. "Oh, Alex has a sleepover," Sam says, and she's called away before she can say, "But I'm free. And, I'm not doing anything tonight."
The patient who comes in is the driver of a Hummer that hit two oncoming cars. His name is Gus, and he's just waking up. ["Dr. Skoda, you should be very ashamed of yourself." -- Wing Chun] "I was driving. Must've blacked out," he murmurs. They ask if he's had a history of heart palpitations, and he says he had a heart attack two years earlier. "How is it?" he asks. They start to reply with respect to his ticker, but he yelps, "No no no, not me, my Hummer. It's brand-new." Luka and Sam swap a perturbed glance. As they bustle around trying to check his health, he's all, "Can you find out about my car?" No, they can't, because they are an ER staff, not the Assrod Information Brigade. Weaver bursts in demanding that Gus be moved if he's stable enough, because they have three more victims from the crash coming in, and they need the room. Gus obliviously observes that there are going to be a lot of crashes that day, because the roads are icy. Sam and Luka can't believe what they're hearing -- especially when Gus then turns his head and sees a little boy with blood all over his body in Trauma Yellow and sighs, "Good day to be driving a Hummer." The Hummer people are thrilled with this product placement, eagerly scribbling drafts of their new slogan that can play on the theme, "Hummer: So safe, it only kills other people."
Neela calls Sam into Trauma Yellow to help with a pediatric airway; Sam is alarmed to hear that there's a child involved. "Mom and Dad, too," Neela says. Gus sighs, "Damn shame." Neela blinks in confusion, and Sam confirms that Gus doesn't know he hit anyone.
The father gets wheeled into Trauma Green, so Gus is shipped out; in, um, Trauma Colorless, the relatively okay mother, Kathy, gets treated while she breathlessly asks questions about her family. Kathy's familiar to Once and Again fans -- Marin Hinkle played Sela Ward's sister Judy on that show, and was great. "What about my daughter?" she wails. "What daughter?" Malarkey asks cheerfully. "Malarkey," Luka intones as a warning. "They never brought in a girl!" Malarkey shrugs. Oh my God. He is such a knob. Perhaps if you turn his head, the door to his brain's good sense will finally open. Kathy sits up and screams, "Oh my GOD, is she DEAD and you're not telling me?" She's in a bra, and as they try restraining her, all I can think of is that Marin Hinkle has a very large bosom. Sorry, but it's really hard not to notice.
Kathy's son, Ethan, is hosed, which I deduced from the fact that more of his blood is currently outside his body than in it. Sam reads off his weight and observes a little eerily, "Same as Alex." Then she wanders over to the kid's head, where Weaver has pulled back a flap of skin. "Oh my God, he's been scalped," Sam gasps. She looks sick. She'd better get used to this; it's only a matter of time before Alex attempts this on somebody during science class. Weaver folds it back down, thankfully. Ethan's neck is broken, so they want to use the tongs to stabilize it. And, to foreshadow his fate, they ratcheted up the cute-moppet-speak: "Where's my mommy?" Ethan whispers adorably. Ethan is going to die.
Carter walks Kem up a street of historical houses from Chicago's founding days. Piano music trills in the background, as if all the homes of the rich ooze with the sounds of prim young people simultaneously practicing piano and perfect posture. He's giddy. Carter, I think, fancies himself Laurie from Little Women. He gingerly asks Kem what she thinks of one of the houses, and she shrugs that it's lovely. "I was thinking maybe we could buy it," he says. "Actually, I may have already bought it." Kem's awed. That, or she's just a little sick that Monopoly is coming to life before her eyes. Carter says he put down a deposit to frighten off other buyers. "We'll need to have someplace to stay when we're here," he says. Interesting. "What about your grandmother's castle?" Kem asks. Carter figures he'll sell it; to hell with what his father would say, because Gamma didn't leave it to his father. "I don't want to live there," he says. God, it's about time. Carter offers to get back his deposit, but Kem grins, "I love it," and kisses him.
Abby is on the phone trying to scout information about Kathy's daughter. She figures out that the paramedics took two victims to Northwestern and two to Mercy, because one hospital usually can't handle the whole load. "There were ten victims total. We could only handle four," Malarkey says. Kathy correctly counts only eight people in that total. "There were two fatalities at the scene," Malarkey says calmly. Fucking IDIOT. God, he's not even a funny buffoon, or a watchable one, or one that divides the audience. He's just an oaf everybody loathes. Why do they keep him around? With all respect to Scott Grimes, Malarkey needs to take a long walk with a pissed-off helicopter. Kathy completely flips her shit and goes careening through the trauma rooms, first spying her husband Paul and then her blood-soaked son, who's getting pins put in his skull through the tongs. Kathy uncorks a whopper of a scream as Luka finally remembers that she's frail and wee and he's strong and hot, and drags her out of there. Kathy shrieks and shrieks until Luka picks all the scenery out of her teeth. Then she calms down almost immediately and becomes emotionally fragile, yet resigned and sturdy. It's like they filmed the scenes a week apart and forgot to put in the "Kathy dials it down ten notches" portion of dialogue. Luka quietly explains that Kathy's husband has two collapsed lungs and some internal bleeding, with a side helping of chest wounds. Kathy sees Sam and begs her to tell her what's up with Ethan. Sam bites her lip, and then gently admits Ethan's neck is broken, and that the bizarre Dr. Emmett Brown-chic headgear is an attempt to stave off paralysis. Luka chips in that Ethan's probably brain-damaged. Kathy blinks, her eyes wet, and emptily asks, "They're dying, aren't they?" Luka pretends this isn't a foregone conclusion. "Where should I go now?" Kathy asks brokenly. They're confused. "Who's going to die first?" she elucidates. Apparently, the answer is Sam, because we fade to black on a shot of her face.
I'd like to point out that my roommate spent eight hours in the ER, and not one person projectile or otherwise vomited on any public surface. In addition, no two employees discussed their personal problems or engaged in lovers' quarrels while they treated her, and no foreign-born doctors escorted me to a supply closet and took me roughly while I awaited word of her condition. The latter count was our only disappointment.
Kem noshes on an ice-cream cone that hasn't melted in two hours. The fact that she took two hours to eat an ice-cream cone offsets the flagrant "Look! She's eating CRAP!" aspect of this scene. No human nurses ice cream that long. It's not possible. Carter takes her to the hotel where his parents and grandparents get married, and of course he's checked them in and they're going upstairs for lunch in bed. Apparently, The Chicago Experience includes showing Kem how a local high-class hooker gets treated.
Abby still can't find any information about Kathy's daughter. She and Sam are struggling to help Kerry put the überheadgear on Ethan. Haleh calls Sam out to check on Layla, and Sam uncomfortably offers to take three of Haleh's patients if she'll take over with Ethan. Haleh's like, "Yeah, right. You're the one in the credits, honey."
Sam sits down to Layla, but Gus interrupts by calling out that he wants some orange juice. Sam thinks he's annoying and callous, so she angrily yanks the curtain around Layla's bed. Poor Gus. He doesn't know. Cut to Layla asking gingerly if she can still have sex. "Not for a few weeks," Sam says. Layla's face falls. Sam shrugs that she should just tell her boyfriend -- "Fiancé," Layla corrects primly -- that he needs to chill out a little: "If he really loves you, he'll understand." "Dean loves me," Layla says, chanting it with a Scientologist's glow emanating from her eyes: creepy and a little brainwashed. Sam lightly suggests that it's possible to love someone and not realize you're physically hurting them. And it is, if you are insane, or a total assplug. "He doesn't mean to hurt me," insists Layla. Sam blinks. "But does he?" she says evenly. "Did he last night?" Layla coughs that she doesn't know, and confesses with a painfully earnest smile that they went on a drive with his friends last night, and that Dean lets his friends watch them have sex because he likes to show off how sexy she is. Initially I wrote that as, "Dean just likes show off how sexy he is," and although it's not what she said, it's probably also correct. Sam successfully keeps down her lunch as she tightly asks what that means. Sam's nostrils flare as she tries to calm her rising fury. Abby calls her into Trauma Yellow, so Sam promises Layla that they'll sort all this out, and reluctantly gets up to return to the land of faint hope.
Abby quietly tells Sam that no one can locate Kathy's girl, and that the husband is basically on his way to the farm where all husbands can run free and enjoy the outdoors and play with other husbands just like them. Ethan's continuing his slow descent into Holy Crap. Suddenly, Miguel shows up, banging on the door and screaming at Abby. He bursts in and demands his pain pills, and he won't go away, despite the fact that someone's dying in front of him. Abby muscles him out of there just as Sam expresses the total futility of trying to save Ethan.
Carter emerges from the bathroom, having washed off the post-coital funk in which Kem is still basking. He climbs into bed, and The Honey-nooners snuggle smugly, because nothing is more romantic than showing your hometown to your girlfriend by taking her to a hotel room that's either totally foreign and impersonal to you, or which is personal to you because you've also erected your mini Sears Tower there with a bunch of other girlfriends. Ah, memories. They talk about how healthy and cute and talented the Cartus is going to be, because they're awfully proud of themselves. "What frightens me most is, I could get used to all this," Kem says dreamily. Carter rolls onto his back and poor-little-rich-boys that he won't be renting out any ice rinks for his child, because that's what he's run away from his whole life. Except the years he lived with Gamma, but let's not split heirs...er, "hairs."
Kathy watches the life ooze out of her family. Luka chooses that moment to present Sam with Layla's test results: she's pregnant. It's a bit harsh to make Kathy watch the circle of life continue before her eyes, but maybe Luka's just not one for geometry. When she tells Layla, the girl's totally thrilled, and reaches for her mobile to call Dean. "He's gonna go through the roof!" she trills. Yes, and so will Layla -- but in the opposite direction, as the crushing blow of his rejection sends her plummeting to the ground. Sam stops her from using her cell phone in the hospital, and cautiously tells her that she should consider whether she wants this baby. "Oh, Dean loves kids," Layla nods knowingly. Poor, stupid Layla. She doesn't know that Dean means that the same way my friend expresses love for his "foster kids," who are called Vicky and Ric, and are his testicles. It's a long story. Sam attempts to explain to her that what seems like a good idea now -- keeping the baby -- might not look so hot in six months or a year, or three years, but Layla is dumb, so she doesn't get it. Sam's called away again before she can hold up the sign she made that says, "Abortion: It's what's for dinner."
Miguel snots to Pratt that he's been there nine hours, and can't figure out why. Pratt is annoyed that Miguel hasn't been discharged yet. Snore. Sam buzzes past, and we follow her down the hall toward Gus, who's roaming around in his gown looking weak and curious. Arnie butts into the scene and asks if she has a moment. "I don't," Sam says. "Maybe later," Arnie says. "I won't, then, either," Sam mutters. She then tries to usher Gus back to bed, but he's staring through the trauma-room windows at Kathy and her husband. "Is he dead?" Gus asks. We watch him code. "Yes," Sam says plainly. Gus yammers on about what a shame it is, and how he bought that car on a whim but it was the best cash he ever spent because it probably saved his life: "I could've ended up like that poor schmuck in there." With that, Gus has officially joined the gym class that's trying to shimmy up the rope of Sam's last frayed nerve. She spits, "You drove your car into that family. Your Hummer slammed into their car and went right over it." A marketing guy pumps his fist and shouts, "Hummer: Finally, a flying car!" His colleagues buy him a round. As expected, Gus's weak and fidgety heart freaks out at the news, and he drops to the floor. Well done, Sam. You're as bad as Malarkey. Luka rushes over, and they shock his heart back into a rhythm.
Abby finds out for a grieving Kathy that the daughter got taken to Mercy and is being treated there, though they're pushing for a transfer. She begins walking Kathy to Ethan, but Miguel's nightmarishly boring story interferes. It's kind of the feeling you get when Pratt walks into a scene: "Damn, this day was going pretty well until now."
Miguel has tuberculosis, Abby learns, and had been in treatment fifteen months ago, but stopped showing up at the clinic. She frantically informs Pratt, who sheepishly admits that he discharged Miguel, because he is a jackass. They run through the hospital and finally yank Miguel off a crowded elevator, in which he has been coughing. Abby stares at the people inside, yet does nothing, because she apparently doesn't care if any of them got TB from her annoying and tedious patient.
Sam calls Alex and tries to play it cool as she leaves a message suggesting that he doesn't have to go to the sleepover, if he'd prefer to hang out with her. But then she realizes he doesn't know how to check the voicemail, because she was too busy showing him how to stitch his own skin together to give the kid a telephone lesson. Priorities. She hangs up and puts her head in her hands, unsettled because of Ethan and simply wanting to talk to her son. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she suddenly notices a guy harassing Layla.
"You're getting RID of it!" shouts Dean. "How do you even know it's mine?" Layla mostly wails and whines and blubbers that she loves him. Sam bursts in and kicks him out of the room. "What's going on?" a similarly seedy teen asks Dean. "Oh, who's this, one of your buddies from the gang-bang squad?" Sam spits. The friend rather cleverly admits guilt by ranting against Layla for not keeping her mouth shut, whereas Dean prefers the "If I'd done anything wrong she wouldn't still love me" approach. Sam hightails it to the telephone to call the cops, but Dean seizes her wrist and squeezes it menacingly, whispering that Layla's nothing but a stupid little slut. By now, one of the really weak kids in the gym class is dangling off the end of her frayed nerve and whining about being plucky and continuing to try, and this misguided moxie really, really peeves her and causes Sam and her last nerve to snap. She kicks into self-defense mode, cranking Dean's arm behind his back and abusing his shoulder before punching him in the nose with the heel of her hand. Dean drops to the floor. Sam nonchalantly cracks her neck and then picks up the telephone. Arnie gawks from across the room. Were he wearing a bow tie, it would be spinning. He turns slowly to Luka, who clamps his mouth shut and shrugs innocently, smiling as if to say, "Well, why not?" We fade to black on a shot of Sam stealing a glance in Luka's direction, clearly hoping he likes it a little rough.
Moaning Miguel is still all pissed off that he's in quarantine and not going home. What is it, exactly, about the prospect of coughing up blood and lung tissue that sounds appealing to him? Sam drifts past his room and barks at him to wear his mask. Then she eagerly asks Frank whether Alex has called. Except she says "my kid," which is just the kind of loving and personal touch one wants to hear from a mother. Frank says that Alex hasn't called, then orders her to stay put at Reception until Weaver finds her. "Don't hit me -- I'm just the messenger," he adds. Well, she can't hit Weaver, so I'm of the Have At The Messenger school of thought here, since it's Frank.
Pratt has gone from blowing off Miguel to being really suspicious of him. I'm sorry -- does anyone care about this subplot at all? Even a bit? Can I skip it? Because I think it's a sinkhole. Basically, Pratt wants to arrest Miguel for failing to take his meds, but Abby swears he just didn't understand the treatment directive, and she thinks she can make him see the light.
Sam suddenly decides that now would be a good time to chat with Arnie, but his pocket protector's in a tizzy over her behavior and he scurries off, scared it's going to explode and invite a Bic stain. Malarkey asks Sam if she's waiting for Weaver. "Don't hit her," he advises. "She's crippled." Frank laughs. That's all we need here: a soulmate for the soulless.
Weaver asks Sam how Ethan's doing, but basically uses that as a way to walk Sam away from Reception before delivering the blow: Arnie recommended that Weaver fire Sam. Apparently, they just now got around to calling her three references, and found out she's had prior incidents. This would have been more effective if they'd called these references before hiring her, instead of giving her the job after losing a game of rock-paper-scissors. Sam stiffly insists that she didn't get fired from any of those jobs; Weaver counters that Sam always left before anyone could fire her. "I'm a good nurse. If you want me here, fine. If not, I'll find another job that's just as good somewhere else," Sam bluffs. Weaver isn't fooled by this, and figures it's not the first time Sam's rattled off that little speech. "It's clear to everyone that you have an impulse-control problem," Weaver says. Based on what? Well, I guess she did rip off a man's prosthesis. Sam argues that Dean's a disgusting pig who helped his friends gang-rape Layla. Weaver reminds her that morality takes a back seat to potential lawsuits. Ethan has the discourtesy to start dying in the middle of this argument, so Weaver just tells Sam to speak to the head of nursing the morning. "For what it's worth, I wish I'd hit him harder," Sam sasses. I sort of wish she had, too, because the kid had a week's worth of filth in his hair and a harder blow to the noggin might've knocked him clean.
Carter and Kem cuddle in a limo. They're on the way to the airport; this was actually Kem's last day. Carter tries to entice her with images of Chicago in the summer, but she's not swayed. "I can't live here, John," she says. "My work -- it's important." He looks all sad, like this comes as any kind of a surprise to him. Get over yourself, Carter. You're not as needy as two hundred AIDS patients are, no matter how bruised you were by growing up rich. Kem fantasizes that they should run away together and disappear. "No one would ever know," she sighs. Wait, what? She won't leave her work for Chicago, but she would if they ran off and vanished in, say, Paris? Kem, you're confusing me. Put a sock in it -- one of your big winter ones. Maybe it'll fatten you up.
Miguel is fighting...Zzzzzz Zzzzz.... Abby relents and yells for Security to detain him. The guard takes a flying leap and levels Miguel -- just the kind of move that makes Arnie wet his bikini briefs. He shakes his head and scribbles on his clipboard. It's...oh, my, yes, he wasn't impressed with the height or the angle on that leap, so he's stiffing the guard with an 8.1.
Carter doesn't want Kem to go. Kem doesn't want to go. Carter wants Kem to stay. Kem can't stay. It turns out the vomit comet appearance at the beginning of the show really was foreshadowing some serious regurgitation. "I love you," Kem mouths, rubbing her nonexistent pregnant belly. ["To me, it looked like 'we love you,' which is even ookier." -- Wing Chun] At this rate, she'll be concave by the time she goes into labor. One hard sneeze and that thing will go flying from the womb.
Apparently, some monitor or other can keep track of every heartbeat Gus has had in the last twenty-four hours. Luka tells him that his heart basically stopped at 8:20 AM, right before the crash, but that the impact of the accident snapped him right back into a normal rhythm. "Hummer: We put the 'car' in 'cardiovert.'" Gus pales when he realizes that the crash saved his life, and he looks over at Ethan, who's dying in Trauma Yellow.
Weaver tells Sam to stop CPR and gently informs Kathy that Ethan is brain dead and...heart dead, I guess. He's a smorgasbord of dead, basically. Weaver promises to find out more about the daughter's whereabouts, Sam tries not to cry, and Kathy begins to grieve. As piano music in the background tries to tell us exactly how to feel, the show intercuts Carter at the airport with shots of Gus and Kathy telling their stories to Luka and Sam, respectively. Carter exits the airport, and then turns around after biting on his lips for a few seconds. Gus tells Luka that his first heart attack kept him from working, going upstairs, or even having sex. "I felt like I was dead," he says.
Kathy: "I never thought I'd get married, have two kids. I wasn't the type. But then...." She shrugs with a hint of a sad smile. As Kathy recalls her husband's excitement at her first pregnancy, which surpassed her own, Carter desperately tries to talk his way to the front of the ticket line at O'Hare.
Gus thought his wife would leave him when his ticker shut off his pecker, but she didn't, because the good Lord invented vibrators for a reason, bless His pervy soul. His wife was the reason he got up in the mornings, Gus says, and we see Carter shelling out nine thousand dollars for a ticket to Tokyo -- the only refundable seat he can buy to get him through Security, and then to Kem's gate. I'm fairly sure Carter's doing it because he can get back his cash, and not because he's a spoiled rich kid -- I mean, he's clearly just a Dawson's Creek fan cribbing from the oeuvre of Joey Potter: Poor Little "It" Girl.
Gus recalls his Hummer's costing twelve times as much as Carter just put down, and smiles that his wife never questioned him. In fact, she wanted him to spoil himself, so he did. "I went out and bought my dream car, and I took it for a drive," Gus says. Luka smiles, engaged, as if he thinks the story has a fairy-tale ending. As one who bought his dream Midlife Mobile and watched it become a Dodge Tragedy, I feel that Luka should wipe off the grin.
Kathy often fantasized about being by herself at night, with nothing to do but read. And now she can, because she figures she's a hateful daydreaming bitch who brought this on herself by watching too much inspirational programming that encouraged her to make her dreams come true. Damn you, Pax Network! Sam listens patiently to her needless guilt as we hear Gus wonder why he got to be the lucky one: "Why should I be spared?" "No one knows," says Luka. "You have to believe there's a reason you're still here." Again, I feel like Luka could go there a little bit further, since he almost went through this himself last year. Then Kathy tells a story about Ethan's wanting ice cream that morning, and how nutty that was, but for some reason that day she thought it was just crazy enough to work. Under this sound, we see Carter, King Of The Nooner Cone, getting stopped by Security. "Can you imagine? Ice cream in winter?" Kathy says, aggrieved awe in her tone. Carter starts to cry, thinking he's missed Kem, just as Ethan dies.
Suddenly, Abby brings Kathy her daughter. Sam looks nauseated and green as Kathy scoops up her child and carries her outside, sobbing with joy and sorrow. Abby watches Sam with concern; Sam tries to hide behind the monitor, but she clearly wants to weep for the little children, or something.
Kem shouts Carter's name. He jerks his head up, and they lose themselves in each other for one last hug. We fade to black on what was one of the more interesting and well-handled Accident Of The Week plots, but wishing that Carter and Kem's non-tragic non-misfortune wasn't juxtaposed with things that are actually poignant.
Later, Abby drifts into NotMagoo's and orders up a bunch of food, plus two plain hamburgers and three plain yogurts. Sam overhears this with a laugh. "Susan can only eat two things without throwing up," Abby laughs. Sam commiserates that pregnancy does suck. Abby perches beside her and they make small talk about Abby's tiring schedule and her med-school dream. "The last thing I remember wanting to be was an international spy," Sam grins ruefully. "I was fifteen. Then I got pregnant." Abby has the tact to whistle, "Fifteen!" Charming. Sam recalls how she was in total denial when she found out, and had to work double shifts at Baskin-Robbins to scrape together the cash Alex's father was supposed to provide to help with the abortion. "Did he go with you?" Abby asks. "He was at a gig," Sam says, self-mockingly. Abby nods with amused recognition. "The first time I went, I sat in the waiting room and they called my name...Never got up," Sam says. "The second time, I was too late. Now I look at Alex, and I...." She shakes her head, as if she can't imagine that she came so close to aborting someone she loves so much. Abby digests this, and then blurts, "The place I went to had this calendar on the wall. With a picture of Strawberry Shortcake." A child's toy? That's awfully tactless. Abby laughs mirthlessly. "I just stared at it the whole time," she says. She and Sam swap silent looks, and Abby shakes her head with tangible what-could-have-been regret. It's a really nice scene for them -- two people who've been at the same place and took different roads for different reasons.
As Sam waves good night to Abby, she runs into Luka outside the hospital. He genially asks if Alex is having fun at his sleepover. "Too much fun to come to the phone," Sam grins. "Sleepovers are tough," Luka says. "For parents, not kids." Sam peers up at him curiously, and then practically double-takes when Luka shares that he had a boy and a girl of his own back in Croatia. Layla interrupts the moment: "Miss Taggart? Do you have a minute?" How would she have known Sam's last name? No one calls her that. Luka bids her farewell, and Sam stares after him in a silent daze for a second before turning her attention to Layla. But what Layla says, we never hear; this is the last we see of the story. Which...I give up. We put up with Miguel at the expense of this?
Miguel...yaaaaawn.... Pratt and Abby force him to sign a contract promising to adhere to his treatment plan, on pain of being reported to immigration.
Weaver toddles around, annoyed that Carter's not there yet to start his shift. Abby asks her to sign off on Miguel's admission, and Weaver glowingly praises Pratt for the thorough exam that turned a knee sprain into a TB catch. "It was Abby's catch," Pratt says, not terribly loudly, as Weaver departs. "Doesn't matter," Abby mumbles. Weaver was so gung-ho about Abby's being back in the ER, and now she's kind of being condescending and high-handed. Maybe that's how she lays down the smack on her favorites; I don't know. And why does Abby -- and Neela, and Lester -- keep returning to the ER between her other rotations?
Arnie stiffly stalks up to Weaver and demands that she fire everyone in the ER for being insane, hostile, violent, and grabby. Weaver basically tells him to go fuck himself and the red tape he rode in on. "You won't meet the terms of the legal settlement," he sniffs, wounded. "So sue me. Again. What else is new?" Weaver yawns.
Kerry runs into Carter in the lounge and gently chides his tardiness. He sadly says he was at the airport bidding farewell to the twig that was in his bed. "She has two hundred HIV patients to save," he says. "Good for her," Weaver says strongly. No kidding. Quit your pouting, Carter, and remember why you love her in the first place. Unless it's just because you can't believe she lets you sleep with her, in which case, still quit your damn pouting. Sandy pages Kerry, who checks it and gulps that Sandy's going to be so frustrated that she got stuck with a squalling infant for twelve hours. "How long will [Kem] be gone?" Kerry asks. "A few weeks," Carter says emptily. To cheer him up, Weaver shows him photos of Henry, who looks alternately terrified, stoned, and just genetically unfortunate. They coo about babies and their personalities. "You'll see," Kerry smiles.
And what's a crappy day without a Dido song? "Here With Me" kicks in as Sam kicks open the door of her sloppy, empty apartment, clearly lonely and down after a rough day. She flops down and tries to watch TV, but can't focus, and then trips over one of Alex's anatomy dolls.
This evidently makes her think of Luka, because the thing we see is her knocking on his door and inviting him to get some dinner. Luka's apartment is dark. Not a light on in the entire place. He had been doing dishes, too. Who does that? Maybe he just eats a shitload of carrots. Anyway, Sam makes small talk about his apartment, but as Luka shrugs on his coat, she eases her way nervously up to him and peers into his eyes. Silently, he caresses her cheek, and they kiss. Shirts come off, tongues slip in, arms wrap around torsos. That lucky...gah. I don't really love Sam, but I don't loathe her, either; they're just two needy people whose genitals happen to fit together like a puzzle, and sometimes that's all people need, so you GO, Sam, and you get on that Croatian love stud for those of us who can't. The last shot is of Sam lying on her back, probably nude, as a shirtless Luka works her. And that is one lovely back he's got. It's a good thing they didn't put this shot into the episode any earlier, or I wouldn't have been able to think. Hot. Hot. Hot.