Outside, Elizabeth and Mark shiver and await the arrival of an ambulance. She asks if he's talked to Jen yet. "She wants to think about it," Mark says. This greatly annoys Elizabeth, who would rather make snap decisions if it means ditching the brat. Mark reminds her that it's hugely problematic to let Rachel make all the decisions; that way, she'd just keep flip-flopping back and forth between parents every time she failed to get her way. Elizabeth bows her head and grudgingly acknowledges the truth in that. "You might consider boarding school," Lizzie suggests. "She could use some structure." Mark thinks that's bunk. "I could sell her off to pirates," he offers. I hate to say it, but -- right on, Mark! Or maybe they could make it really obvious and ship her off to some Swiss school for Unwanted Teenagers. Elizabeth blathers that boarding school will give Rachel a sense of self-worth and responsibility. Oh, whatEVER, Elizabeth. Boarding school is going to help her discipline problem? Hasn't she read books about the randy escapades and assorted drug problems of boarding-school lasses with authority issues? "It worked well for me," she says, defensively. "Yeah, but...you're British," Mark says. Elizabeth starts to hiss and spit. She complains that Rachel's out-of-control behavior is disrupting their entire lives, and loudly doubts that Mark's doing anything proactive about it.
Saved by the siren! Mark's patient arrives and saves him from exposing just how spineless and soft and weak he really is. His patient, Julio Echeverria, passed out in the taxi line at a ritzy hotel in town. They escort him inside.
Susan stitches up Kinney in the trauma room. He stares at her intensely. "You're lucky these cuts aren't deep," she notes. "Whoever did this didn't want to kill you." He shrugs, so she presses on and posits that he cut himself just so he could get out of jail for a spell. "You're the first woman I've talked to in fourteen months," he pants. Susan replies, "Yeah, I get that a lot." Kinney bravely tells her that she doesn't have to take care of him. "Wouldn't want to die before they get a chance to kill me," he groans, blathering about the date of his execution and how the almanac says it's slated to rain that day. Susan boringly puts up with it while she finishes stitching his chest scrapes. Kinney decides to deliver a horrible little piece to the effect that it's a blessing to know when and where he'll kick off, unlike the "poor saps" she sees in the ER every day who got taken down by surprise and "never got the chance to say 'I'm sorry,' or...'Goodbye,'" Kinney rasps tearfully. Oh GOD. This show throws no curveballs anymore. If they write a death-row inmate, they bloody well write the most predictable death-row inmate on the planet. Kinney grabs Susan's arm and begs her to keep him there a bit longer, just so he can stay away from his cell. Uncomfortably, Susan promises to keep him for observation for a few hours. A guard enters and makes Kinney unhand her, menacingly promising to "straighten [Kinney] out." Susan absently tells the guard not to worry about it, and bolts.