Unloading Alderman Bright into a room, Weaver and Susan call for all the usual tests. "His chest is clear," Susan assesses. "Chest is clear," repeats the crazy assistant. She's standing behind Bright's head barking into a cell phone and leaning over and basically getting in everyone's way, but no one's reprimanding her for this, because she's the magic alderman's assistant, and no, she doesn't have to wear gold lamé and heels unless they're at a council meeting, so stop bugging her. "Jennifer, honey, try to breathe," the alderman sighs. Susan politely tells her that she can't use her cell phone in the hospital. Finally! Do TPTB read the boards? Because nobody issued the same warning to Abby when she was yakking away in the middle of a trauma. Maybe the rules are different for haggard nurses with bad dye jobs. "Alderman, have you been drinking?" Susan asks him. "You don't have to answer that, sir," Kerry interrupts immediately, winning a surprised glare from Susan. Kerry is such a whore. I love it. It's the other side of her character that we've been missing lately: the prostitute to politics. Bright pleasantly answers that he's been "on the program" for two years now, so no, he wasn't blowing the froth off any cold ones this fair night. "Don't worry, sir, you're in the finest hospital in Chicago," simpers Weaver. And of course, just as the gushingly overdone reassurance drips from her mouth, the lights shut off. Kerry nonchalantly whips out a pen light. "Okay!" she chirps, trying to pretend nothing's wrong as Susan gawks at her. The credits roll as we wonder how Sandy reacted to news of the miscarriage, and how Weaver broke it to her, and why everyone's acting like the Weavus was a figment of our imagination. Maybe the writers should stop writing fat, overwrought, overplanned scripts that have to be slashed, and instead concentrate on telling just a handful of stories and telling them well.
Jessie Callahan's machinery beeps us back from commercial. The backup power comes on as Carter begins trying to tend to her. "Thank God something's working," Weaver brats, wandering around sort of aimlessly. I think she's trying to free up the room for the alderman. I'm already sick of that phrase. "The alderman." The more I say it, the more I want to rinse out my mouth with steel wool and some Lysol. Carter announces that he's going to scan Jessie for internal bleeding. Jessie groggily asks where her husband is. "Get the lead out -- we've got a VIP customer waiting," Weaver snaps. Jessie, pissed that her life means so little to this small shrewish woman, stands up and whacks her on the head with a lead apron.