ER
Here And There

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Here And There

As Gallant treats the scorpion victim, a beeping sound emanates from Beefy's direction. Gallant busts him on having what I think is a satellite phone, and makes Beefy stop using it, in case the enemy can track them. "Come on, sir, you really think these insurgents have homing technology?" Beefy complains, but he obeys.

Neela boredly deals with morons in Triage, including a woman who claims her son has a fever of 112 degrees. "Fahrenheit," she nods curtly for dramatic emphasis. Tiredly, Neela explains that if her claims were true, her child would be dead. Or, I suppose, the spawn of Satan. Which might at least be interesting enough to yank Neela out of her unending doldrums, earning this kid my eternal gratitude. The woman is unfazed, so Neela hands her a thermometer with a dark expression, and tries to leave. A guy with back pain stops her; out of pity, she examines him and tells him it's a simple ache. He wants to wait for a full write-up. Neela calmly sighs that he can either wait twenty hours to see a doctor, or go home, pop ibuprofen, drink some merlot, and get some rest. Good, solid advice there about taking medicine with booze. Susan watches all this with what I imagine has become her trademark look of pinched disapproval. As Neela's patient leaves, there's a curious moment in which he forgets his red gloves, and when Neela points them out, he gets all wiggy, grabs them, and then leaves by throwing the doors open violently. Um, okay. Either he's coming back next week with back cancer, or that was just a long excuse for Susan to stick her nose further up in the air.

Indeed, as soon as Neela reenters the ER, Susan gets on her case about procedure. It seems Neela took her order about discharging people straight from Triage a bit too literally. Yawn. We know. Neela's disgruntled and disconnected Luckily, a girl runs in and interrupts this reprimand by screaming that her sick brother is out in the car.

Gallant and Whitley are on a van toward The Perimeter, where they're going to dabble in a little reckless triage. I think. It's all badly explained, and later I sort of felt like this scene should've come before the one in which we met Jackson, but...I can't think about this stuff or my brain will fold in upon itself. Gallant explains for Whitley, who is a hopeless exposition addict, that anyone who is wounded or loses life, limb, or eyesight -- um, through...kissing; yes, gentle kissing -- because of U.S. military action wins the right to come on down to the Army hospital and convalesce in style, or spin the wheel and play for a showcase. Otherwise, they're turned loose to the streets or local hospitals. "Hey, if we treated them all, we'd run out of beds and supplies in half a day," Gallant says. He learns that Whitley speaks Arabic and can translate for him, because she was inside The Pentagon on September 11 and the next day started studying the language, figuring that if death was going to rain down again from above, she'd like to be able to shout disapprovingly at it in its own dialect.

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