Susan exits Jeanetta's room and tells Pratt that she's recovering. He says the ICU is full, and Susan insists that he must keep trying, because Jeanetta needs a bed, what with all the coughing and the horking and the dying. Pratt digs deep and finds a half-hearted apology for what he did. "You exacerbated a terrible situation," Susan reprimands. "I told you to call the aunt." Pratt did, though: turns out she's sixty-nine and has multiple sclerosis, and is therefore probably not up to playing Mary Poppins. "Think Stoner Boy's gonna do any better?" Susan sighs. Well, he'll probably be more apt to buy into the flight-powered umbrella and magical sidewalk drawings. Susan gestures for Doug to confer with them; he sidles over, head down and arms crossed, embarrassed. "You okay?" they ask. He confesses to smoking up a little that afternoon, but insists that he's fine now. "Hey, did I kill her?" he asks, uncomfortably. "No," Susan says. "We had to put a tube in her throat to help her breathe." Pratt comments that her lungs are infected. Doug wipes his face in consternation and apologizes for pushing his mother's buttons. Susan delivers a blow: Jeanetta needs to be in the ICU for at least a week, leaving Marten and Rachel without a place to stay. "Yeah, I guess," Doug says, his eyes romancing one of the linoleum squares in an effort to avoid meeting Susan's. "Your mother's aunt can't help out," Susan adds, annoyed. "Aunt Sarah? She can't even feed herself," scoffs Doug. Pratt leans in and asks if anyone else might be able to help, nudge-nudge, wink-wink, wake up and snort the pungent aroma of responsibility like it's sweet, sweet cocaine. Doug shakes his head instead. "There's nobody," he insists, eyes darting all over the place.
Luka's impatience with Tom is growing. "Listen, you have to go the OR," he booms. "I won't leave her," rasps Tom. Luka glares at the air around them, then fabricates an excuse to get Malik out of the room so that he can walk over to Jessie and disconnect one of her leads. Right when Tom's in the middle of reminiscing about the good old days, then, Jessie appears to flatline. "Is that...?" Tom asks brokenly. "Yeah," Luka says curtly. "She's gone." He even burps up a time of death. Tom smooches his faux-dead wife's hand as Luka has him whisked off to surgery. "I'll catch up to you at the elevators, Malik," Luka fudges. Once alone, he subtly reconnects the lead. Sure enough, Jessie's heart is still beating. Luka strokes her forehead gently. We fade to black just absolutely twisted and torn by the moral ambiguity of it all; also, we're really hungry, because all we've eaten today is hummus and carrots, and there are some Wheat Thins burning a hole in the cupboard.