Cut to the bathroom. Mark's glasses lie on the sink, and we pan up to his reflection in the mirror. Mark rubs his eyes, then lets go and stares at himself, possibly testing how long it takes to focus. He sticks out his tongue and notices the right-side wonk. SinkCam shows him splashing soothing cold water onto his face, with the strange hollow sound one might get if one listened to this through the drainpipe. We're then treated to a glamour shot of Mark's scar, which spans his bald pate; finally, as he dries his hands, frustration overcomes him and he bangs his forehead against the shiny towel dispenser. ["Because that's good for YOUR BRAIN. Yeah, I know the brain is well insulated by the skull. Still, that shit doesn't help any." -- Wing Chun] NostrilCam shoots straight up at Mark's face from the floor, and takes us to commercial with a truly terror-inspiring shot of Mark twisting his face into an expression of pained panic.
It's Luka! Dr. Luka "Hot Hot Hot" Kovac! He came back for me! This is almost enough to make me recommit to religion. Luka surveys the crowded ER and bemusedly wonders why Susan didn't call for backup. "What do you think you are?" she snarks. "Clear the rack, I'll take the fast-tracks," she orders. Luka watches Susan's silence with interest. "'Please,'" he suggests. Susan doesn't get it, so Luka points out that he flew all night and that technically this should be a day off, and that he's the perfect example of why testosterone exists. "Flying all night was your choice," Susan says. "And it's not my fault you answered your phone." Kudos to the forums for pointing out that Susan parrots Weaver almost to the word ("All night was your choice"). One night of hectic patient madness, and Susan's become a management drone. Luka's new spiky haircut finds this amusing.
Abby corrals Susan in the hall to ask if Joyce's broken cheekbone merits some attention. Susan sends her in Luka's direction. Perplexed, Abby shifts her gaze to the reception desk; the sight of Luka brings a tiny smile to her lips. She picks up speed. "You're back!" she grins. "I was getting worried. I thought I'd at least get a postcard." Luka chuckles, "You need to get email." Yes, that mystical "email" that young people use. I'll ignore the lunacy of this detail because the sheer heat from Luka's body has melted me into a puddle of curly hair and sarcasm. As Abby hands him Joyce's x-ray, Luka warmly says it's great to see her. "You too," she replies, clearly juiced. She basks in the glow of having seen this splendid specimen naked, then gives him the bullet on Joyce.