Abby perches awkwardly in the stirrups as Susan checks her for signs of rape. Abby's pride is further dented when she has to answer probing questions about her lack of sex life, and hear a detailed analysis of her vaginal condition. Susan concludes that there's no proof of rape, and even stoic Abby can't conceal her relief. "I didn't think so," she whispers, wiping a tear from her good eye. Her nose is broken, but it's a non-displaced fracture so it will heal without needing to be rebroken and reset. "Could've been a lot worse," Susan offers. "Yeah," Abby snorts, tears coursing down her cheeks, against her will. Susan picks absolutely the wrong time to caution Abby about involving herself in domestic disputes. Abby gulps. "I was trying to help the girl," she says, crying freely, helplessly. "I did help the girl. Somebody needed to do something." Susan, clearly unsure how to appease her, offers to call her mother. Abby sniffles and snickers at once. "No," she says strongly. She tries to insist she'll be fine at home, but Susan refuses to accept this and talks Abby into spending the night on her pull-out couch.
Luka paces outside the exam room until Susan emerges. He's relieved to hear that Abby apparently wasn't raped. They emerge into the reception area, where Susan is stunned to see that the triage patients have been completely cleared. Luka quickly excuses himself, claiming he needs to unpack from his Bosnia trip. "I've lived here five months and I haven't unpacked," Susan mutters, but Luka's already gone. "Yeah, bail," she sighs to herself. Bitter schmitter. She then stares confusedly at the empty board, and whips around in delight when she hears a familiar voice touting his skills as a temp. It's Jerry! He's back! He's working triage magic and he's shoving a bagel in his face! Wait...yeah, he's shoving a bagel in his face, and as Susan points out, that means triage magic will turn into reverse peristalsis in a matter of minutes. The grossest part is, Jerry appears to freely admit that he nabbed the bagel from somewhere under the desk and stole the "dip" from the trash. Oh, Jerry. Triage magic? Triage tragic. Susan sends him home in anticipation of his violent stomach pyrotechnics.
Luka storms into The Windbreaker and spies Brian on the pay phone. For music trivia buffs, the song playing is "Easy Tonight" by Five For Fighting. The second Brian lays eyes on Luka, he bobbles the phone, hangs it up, and scurries around the pool table as if to use it as a shield. "I don't have a problem with you, man," he says. "I have a problem with you," Luka menaces. Brian claims it was all an accident, and that he had no intention of losing his temper. Luka advances on him and bitch-slaps him on the chest. "Let's see you hit me," he dares Brian. "Lose your temper with me." Brian swears he'll turn himself in, backpedaling in a thousand different ways and basically reducing himself to a quivering, ineffectual mullet-stand. Luka punches him, and then picks him up by the scruff of his neck. "Wait, I was wrong, I was angry! She took away my wife!" wails Brian. Luka clocks him again. "You took away your wife," he fumes, throwing Brian onto the pool table and clamping a hand on his neck. "I know, but I loved her," snivels Brian. "She's everything to me and I lost her." Luka leans in and very angrily hisses that if Brian touches Abby again, Luka will kill him. ["He fails to add, 'I really will. Ask around.'" -- Wing Chun] He drops the bitch on the felt table and sweeps out of the room, as bar patrons stare after him, agape and aghast and undoubtedly aroused. Violence is bad. But...damn! Wrath qua Luka is baaaaaad! He's so scorching that my smoke alarm just went off. Brian cries and bleeds.